


The Sweet Taste of Defeat

by UkiTheMaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Egbertcest, Established Relationship, Lube, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Parent/Child Incest, Pleasure Denial, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UkiTheMaid/pseuds/UkiTheMaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a headcanon-thing by stridercestprince. John gets a C on his report card, and his father gives him a very specific and cruel punishment. Told from John's PoV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweet Taste of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hxlios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxlios/gifts).



> It's not like I have an in-chapters fic I need to work on...
> 
> I swear to God, that since I saw this parituclar post from stridercestprince down at tumblr, I just couldn't stop thinking about it, and I had to write it down.
> 
> Inspiration post can be found here: http://stridercestprince.tumblr.com/post/23689315745/
> 
> Here we GO.

Your name is John Egbert.

And you are fucked.

And it’s not even the good kind of fucked.

It’s the fucked where you are just metaphorically rammed up the ass and it gives you no pleasure whatsoever.

As you slowly walk back home, you stare with eyes wide open at your report card. More particularly, you stare at your Math grade.

C.

Goddamn C.

And it’s not even a C+ to make it look a bit nicer.

It’s just straight out C.

The first time your eyes fell on that grade, your stomach literally hit the floor. And your mind instantly went to your dad.

Now, your father is a very reasonable, sympathetic person. Maybe even a little bit too kind to you. Almost to the point of spoiling you a bit.

But grades.

Fucking grades always get to him.

And you were always able to maintain a more or less perfect score in your school.

Except that you finally slipped.

And, God, is it going to be a showdown when you get home. Hiding the report card is completely out of question. That would only serve to make him even angrier.

If there’s something that gets to him more than grades, that has to be lies.

But, OK, you screwed up in one subject. It’s not really the end of the world. Maybe your punishment won’t be that bad. You are probably over-reacting. Maybe he’ll just refuse to buy you something you want, or maybe he’ll prohibit you from using the Internet for the longest time.

Or maybe he’ll…

No, he couldn’t possibly cut **that**. He isn’t going to abolish something he enjoys as much as you.

When you reach home, the only reason why you don’t hesitate before going inside is because he’s still at work. It’ll take a couple more hours for him to arrive. You take that time to turn on your computer, tell Dave, Rose and Jade that, if you don’t show up for a long time, is because you got bad grades. Jade feels sorry for you, Rose tells you that she feels for you but also says that you can’t escape the consequences of your actions, and Dave… he pretty much laughs at your face and throws a ‘youre screwed’ into the mix for good measure.

You make a mental note to punch him in the face when you eventually see him in person.

The next hours are nothing short of torturing, as you sit on your bedroom, unsure of what’s going to happen, and any car driving down the street makes you tense and your heart skips a beat.

God, telling yourself that might not be so bad isn’t helping at all.

It’s already dark outside when your father’s car finally parks by the side of your house, and you literally jump from your bed, eyes scanning around the room. Your mind keeps alternating between ‘oh God’ and ‘oh no’, and your eyes rest on the report card sitting next to your computer.

Well, better rip this band-aid at once, because if you keep this up for too long, you might as well end up having a heart attack.

Grabbing the report card and shoving it in the backpocket of your shorts, you leave your bedroom, trying to act as cool and collected as you can, despite the fact that your heart is banging inside your chest and you show little to no hurry to reach the living room.

From the hallway you can hear the door unlocking, and you freeze in place for a minute. Maybe it’s not too late to go back to your room, jump out the window and run away. Start a new life somewhere. That sounds like a really damn good plan.

At least is better than facing your father’s wrath.

“John, I’m home.”

The second his voice reaches your ears, you give a step back.

So, what was that about a new life? Maybe you can go to Mexico.

“John, are you home?”

No, no, forget Mexico, what are you even thinking?

Now, calm and collected.

You finally move from your place, with your best smile on your lips.

“Sorry dad, I was in the bathroom.” You go downstairs, putting up the best act of your life. You could be winning a fucking Oscar right now, if there were cameras rolling.

He tells you there’s no problem, and you walk to him so you can hug. He puts his suitcase on the floor, asks you how you’ve been and… how was school.

You need to pause for a second, unless you want to stutter all over the place when you talk.

You murmur something around the lines of ‘it was nice’ and that seems to be enough for him.

But you are so sorely mistaken.

“Oh, and you got your report card today, didn’t you son?”

The shiver that runs down your spine as he asks you that catches you completely off guard, and your smile instantly melts away for a second – good thing he isn’t looking at your face. Why, why did you have to tell him the day the report cards were out?

Your face contorts for a second as you try to find an expression that doesn’t translates the real turmoil going inside your head.

“Anh… yeeesss...”

And there goes your Oscar.

You reach into your backpocket with a silent sigh. It’s now or never. You pull out the slightly crumpled report card and hands it to your father, an embarrassed smile plastered on your lips.

He gets the paper from your hand, all smiles. He barely notices the awkward look on your face.

And then, his smiley expression quickly shifts into a serious one and… Oh God, you know that face. That face means that there’ll be hell to pay. You can say ‘bye bye’ to all the good things in life like computers, games, television, movies and, God, what if he force feeds you cake? No, he can’t be _that_ cruel.

Whatever smile you were trying to keep vanishes completely and you wait to see what he has to say. And he sure is taking his sweet time to say anything.

You eventually get tired of waiting and, a little bit on the shaky side, you finally speak.

“Dad?”

The way he stares back at you makes you freeze again and your eyes go wide. You are about to get on your knees and beg him for mercy. Tell him you didn’t mean to disappoint him. That you are going to do better.

Apparently, you don’t need to say any of those things though. Your face alone definitely did all the talking for you, because his expression softens a bit. It’s still serious, but not so stern, and he hands you back the report card.

He tells you that he’s proud of your other grades, but that he’s disappointed on that C. And this is… a lot less intense than what you were waiting for. You were expecting him to explode but… he’s taking it surprisingly well.

Folding the report card he goes to pick up his suitcase and goes upstairs, presumably to his bedroom so he can put it away and change before preparing dinner.

So… that’s it? He’s just going to tell you he’s a bit disappointed and let it slide? Well, now you just feel like an idiot for having that panic attack earlier and being on the edge of your seat for nothing. Shows how much you know your dad.

You feel your shoulders relax considerably as you exhale, and you even allow yourself to smile a bit. Things sure went better than expected.

After spending a couple of minutes on the living room, you feel a lot more relaxed, so you decide to go to your room and finally deal with your homework. You were so worked up by this whole ordeal you didn’t even start doing. But now it seems like a good time to give it a go.

When you are about to open the door to your room, you hear your father call you from his room, and you feel a bit insecure for a split second, but that feeling soon goes away. He probably just wants to ask you to help him with dinner or something. And, well, homework can wait. Lending him a hand is the least you can do after that slip.

“Yes dad?” You ask as you open the door to his room, and you can’t help but stop at the entrance, looking at him, as your small smile disappears.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed and… Oh God, he’s with that stern look again.

Weren’t you over that?

Beckoning you to get closer, you do so almost immediately. You don’t want him to get angrier. When you are just two or three feet away from him, you stop, waiting to see what he’s going to say, trying to disguise your nervousness the best way you can. The way he looks at you would be hot, if circumstances weren’t so grim.

Without saying a word, he picks up a small tube that’s sitting on the bedside side that you completely didn’t notice, since you were too busy looking at him. He silently hands you the container and you get it from him, your eyes instantly falling on the label to see what that was all about.

Your heart yet again skips a beat when you finish reading, and you can almost feel your face going pale, your mind processing things a lot faster than you thought it could, the words you just read echoing inside your head.

_Devil’s Food lube_.

First, how does a thing like that even **exists** to begin with? And second, oh God, he isn’t going to do what you think he is, is he?

God, he probably will, if you are interpreting that brief smirk of his right. He most definitely noticed the clear look of shock on your face, and now it’s too late to try and keep it cool. You swear that the way your Prankster’s Gambit drops is almost hurting you physically. But you know this can’t be possible because this is just an abstract meter and can’t affect you like that. It does get you pretty distressed though.

Conversely, you can bet that his meter is sky-rocketing right now. And, well, you have to give it to him. That was a pretty well devised plan.

Touché dad.

It takes little to no effort from him to snatch the tube back from your somewhat weakened hands, and you are still staring in disbelief. And you know it’ll do no good to tell him to give you ‘another’ punishment, because that’s not going to happen. This is not a negotiable situation.

The sound of clicking metal finally takes you away from your state of shock, and your eyes almost instantly fall on his belt. Talk about a Pavlov’s Dog reaction… You didn’t know you were _that_ conditioned.

You watch in silence as he neatly discards the belt on the bed, right by his side, and his fingers slowly work on undoing the buttons of his trousers. God, you know that what’s about to take place is going to be terrible on your end, but you can’t help looking at him with a mesmerized look on your face as you watch his hands intently. He **always** does that. He sure knows how to get you all dumbstruck.

And when all the buttons are undone he quietly opens the small tube with one hand, while the other works on the band of his underwear, pulling it down and exposing himself to you.

A strange combination of despair and arousal washes over you as you watch him cover his cock with that unholy concoction. Just what kind of devious mind was behind making cake-flavored lube anyways? You think if that’s Betty Crocker’s doing. That’s the kind of villainy only the batterwitch is capable of, but you were too surprised back then to actually pay attention to any brands on the tube.

On the other hand… Jesus does he look hot. You can feel a sort of ‘kick’ inside your stomach as you watch him, and your body seems to be responding positively to that, all things considered.

When he’s done, he puts the lube away and gestures for you to come closer, and as you do so, you kneel in front of him in such an automatic motion that it kind of catches him off guard. Did he really think you didn’t ‘catch his drift’? He sure is underestimating you.

His brief surprise soon fades though, and he puts on a straight face before telling you what you already know: he wants you to suck him. And he also makes it pretty clear that, if you don’t do this right, there’ll be hell to pay. He doesn’t use these words. He’s a lot more subtle than that, but you know that he means just that.

Very well then. If that’s your sentence, you are going to face it like a man.

And you just realize how ironic it is to face that specific punishment like a man.

Bringing your face closer to his hips, your nostrils are filled with that almost repulsive sugary smell. The prospect of sucking him off isn’t making this any easier.

You tell yourself to relax and you give your father’s cock an initial, tentative lick. God, it tastes worst than it smells, not to mention that darned lube is completely covering his natural taste, which is just a big fucking waste in your opinion.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you move one of your hands to get a hold of him, to make this a little bit easier on your end.

But of-fucking-course he has to get a hold of your wrist, telling that you aren’t allowed to use your hands. This whole thing is getting crueler and crueler.

You let out an exasperated sigh, pulling your hand back and keeping it down like he tells you. He better appreciate how docile you are being during this whole ordeal. You already threw tantrums for less than that. Although, this isn’t some random argument about you not eating his freshly baked cookies or something. You screwed up big time and you actually have to submit to that.

Trying not to focus on that smell, you lean forward, lips reluctantly pressing against the tip of his cock, before you part your lips, carefully wrapping them around your teeth, which is a bit complicated thanks to that stupid overbite of yours. Because _of course_ this isn’t hard enough when you consider your father’s size. You mentally give genetics the middle finger for making your teeth the way they are.

Finally, you start on your task, taking him in torturing inch by torturing inch. God that lube is far too overwhelming, and you want to kill whoever thought that was a good idea. You keep going though. You kind of need to, if you don’t want to find out what the ‘worst punishment’ is. And you honestly don’t want to find out, because God only knows what could be worse than this.

That nasty taste of chocolate is all over your mouth and you aren’t even halfway through. Your father’s size is suddenly the worst thing ever, and you want to punch yourself for all those times when you thought that was a great asset of his.

After a time that seems like an eternity, the tip of his cock finally hits the back of your throat, as if you needed more incentive to throw up all over the place. You pull back, lips tightly sealed around him, as you try to suck him as strongly as possible, hoping to remove as much lube as you can on the process. If you can get rid of that thing as soon as possible, maybe you can enjoy this a little bit more.

Not that cleaning him up will change the fact that your palate and tongue are already completely coated with that taste and you are under the impression only brushing your teeth will make that go away.

You move back until only half of the head is still inside, and you move your head forward again, a little bit less reluctantly than before. Heck, this can’t taste worst than it already does, so better get a move on. Your tongue slides over his skin, trying to remove more of the lube, but you are under the impression that’s only making you even sicker to the stomach.

Then, you decide to focus on something else. You try to take your mind away from taste and smell and direct it to tact, hearing and sight. Focusing on your tongue and how it feels every single vein on your dad’s cock, as your eyes gaze up from behind your glasses, and you can see that his cheeks are slightly flushed and his lips are parted just enough to let out soft sighs.

Using those as an incentive, you keep going, your mind still registering that unbearably sweet taste, but not as much as before. And with that, you start moving a bit faster, feeling him get harder in your mouth, and in turn that makes your own cock twitch a bit inside your shorts. That lingering hope that you’ll get to taste him when all this is over is what’s keeping you going and it’s making your nerves shudder a little.

You focus on every little groove of his cock, a muffled groan or two escaping your throat as you try your best to not mess up, taking him in all the way to the base, which is quite the feat, you have to admit. The lube’s flavor is still lingering, still strong, and you are still angry about it, but you keep going.

When he groans almost quietly your ears perk up, and you suck a bit harder, causing him to moan a little bit louder. That almost makes up for the bad taste in your mouth.

At some point his cock is twitching, with you going at a steady, almost fast pace, and you close your eyes trying to concentrate, because you know soon enough he’s going to start leaking pre-cum, and God, it’s going to be so great to have something else in your tongue besides that terrible artificial taste of chocolate.

Pulling back almost to the tip once again, you move your head forward intently, tongue swirling around his length and you hear him let out something unintelligible. And you give him another long and strong suck.

And, finally, it’s there. He’s finally dripping and, God, it’s so good. His taste is so contrasting with the sweetness of your mouth that you swear that’s the most delectable thing you tasted in years. And also, you know it won’t be long until he finally comes and you are finally able to wash away part of that disgusting flavor. That thought alone gets you just a little harder.

Then, when you pull back and you are ready to move forward again, he pushes you back by the shoulders, and he’s out of you completely. All you can do in response to that is open your eyes widely and stare at him in complete shock.

Oh no, he isn’t doing that. He isn’t going to give that whole scenario such a shitty ending.

Disregarding everything, you practically beg him to keep going. You’d literally do anything to replace that taste in your mouth with his taste. You need that so badly.

And he just shakes his head, and tells you that it ends there. And in the back of your head you think just how he can be so mean, your eyes widening even more, if that was even possible.

He gets up, but not before telling you that you are also not allowed to masturbate until tomorrow, unless you want extra punishment. And God you weren’t even thinking about that but when he mentions that it’s almost as if all your blood instantly rushes to your dick and you want to touch yourself so badly.

God, he really did think of everything for this, didn’t he?

He then walks past you, out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, and you hear the door click behind you, as you just sit there on the floor, a blank stare on your face as your hands grip on your thighs and you fight the urge to rush to your bedroom and jerk off.

You promise yourself you’ll never get anything lower than a B+ for the rest of your life.


End file.
